


Miss the Forest for the Trees

by untilitbreaks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Mage!Oikawa, Magical Creatures, No violence but there will be blood, Valiant attempt at describing medical work, Veterinarian!Iwaizumi, Veterinarian!Kindaichi, idk what Kunimi is, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13236822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untilitbreaks/pseuds/untilitbreaks
Summary: “No, it’s not scary, don’t shoot it! Don’t panic, it’ll panic!” Kindaichi exclaimed. “It won’t try to hurt you unless you threaten it. Look—it’s a vegetarian!”“Vegetarian?” Kunimi snarled. “Hippos are herbivores!”“They’re omnivores!” Kindaichi said defensively.“Does it really matter?” Kunimi asked, exasperated.Well,Kindaichi thought gloomily, tightening his grip on his rope,this one is a little more dangerous than a hippopotamus.





	Miss the Forest for the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first and probably last attempt at anything happy in what might be years, at this point. I tried.
> 
> Just a warning, though - if you're uncomfortable with mentions of blood, especially in a medical setting, you might want to avoid this fic.

“Akira, I’m too young to be such a failure.”

Kindaichi was pretty sure that it was impossible to mess up as much as he did. If he hadn’t been the one to physically make all of the mistakes that he did, he probably wouldn’t have believed it. He was the friend who always had stories to tell when they got together, because he never seemed to be able to pass up the opportunity to make a fool of himself. 

He’d always been clumsy, sure, but making mistakes like he did these days was all because of the somewhat spontaneous decision he’d made in becoming a vet, specifically for magical creatures, even though he didn’t have magic himself.

“You’re not a failure because you’re learning,” Kunimi reassured him. “You don’t learn if you don’t make mistakes.”

Kindaichi didn’t think that it was an acceptable excuse. He’d been “learning” for years now, taking on his apprenticeship as a full time job and eventually graduating, only a few months ago, to doing much of his work solo along with the occasional help of others. If he wasn’t competent, he wouldn’t have been granted that privilege, which was an especially lofty one considering his line of work. He couldn’t afford to be making such thoughtless mistakes repeatedly.

Kunimi could try to assure him that he wasn’t actually the failure that he thought he was, but it wouldn’t work on Kindaichi. He was used to Kunimi trying to make him feel better about himself. Kunimi wasn’t subtle about his disapproval of Kindaichi’s self-deprecating tendencies, and never had been.

Kindaichi had known Kunimi since they were about eleven. They’d been friends ever since, getting to know each other quickly due to their shared love for animals and fascination with magical creatures in particular, and their union against a common enemy, a childhood friend-turned-bully. In their later teen years, during a period of self-discovery that Kindaichi would rather never think about again, they’d become much closer.

That was around when Kunimi had decided that he needed to be the one to step up and take care of the last remaining strands of Kindaichi’s self-worth. Kindaichi said that Kunimi was hypocritical. Kunimi said that he simply understood Kindaichi’s struggle.

“If you’re so worried about it, don’t wait around for someone to fix the problem,” Kunimi said firmly. “What are you going to do about it?”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Kindaichi said with a touch of exasperation. “At this point I’m just going to have to tell the phoenix’s owner what happened and hope for the best. I wouldn’t be happy if someone told me they’d kill my pet.”

“Well, then, why aren’t you doing that? It’s not like you can really kill a phoenix.” Kunimi shrugged, and then pointed to a diagram on the wall, which depicted a phoenix in flight, a plethora of facts written beneath the image. “Look, it says it right here. Everyone knows that about phoenixes. It’s what they tell little kids.”

Kindaichi had been complaining to Iwaizumi for weeks about that particular poster. It wasn’t bad, per say—the art on it was actually very nice, if not slightly kiddish—but the facts were from an older book that Kindaichi’s generation of vets didn’t even bother using anymore, because it was so outdated. Iwaizumi hadn’t believed Kindaichi when he’d explained how many people in the waiting room he’d seen actually reading the posters and diagrams hung up around their clinic, but Kunimi was a prime example of why they needed to be updated. 

“It’s more complex than that. That poster is for kids, if you haven’t realized that already.” Kindaichi frowned. “And besides, my personal solution is to mope.”

“I thought we were trying not to do that.”

“You we’re trying to convince me not to. I never said that I wasn’t going to.”

Kunimi made a face, but didn’t respond. For a moment, he only watched Kindaichi flip through a textbook, as he had been doing ever since he’d made sure that the phoenix was in a stable condition and had confirmed that Iwaizumi wouldn’t be back in town for at least another day.

“Aren’t there potions for speeding up growth in phoenixes? If there aren’t, they’d be easy to make,” Kunimi reasoned. “If age is the only thing wrong that’s an easy fix.”

Kunimi logic wasn’t exactly wrong, but then again, his thought process didn’t seem to be based on any real logic. There were such potions, and Kunimi, capable of very simple magic, could probably brew one if he couldn’t find it somewhere else, even if the ingredients were pricey. If things were that simple, it would be an easy fix.

But it wasn’t worth the risk. Not only might Kindaichi do even more damage, but the result might end up being easy to see through, and Kindaichi would successfully make a fool of himself once and for all.

“I don’t know how that kind of medicine would react with what I already used on the phoenix, though,” Kindaichi explained. He turned to a well-worn page not he textbook, the beginning of a chapter on the basic biological effects of ingestible magic-based remedies. “The two already have contradictory effects, and the side effects of the first medicine I used make me nervous. I took a risk in using it because they aren’t exactly known yet.”

“What kinds of side effects?”

“The typical magic-induced ones, depending on the dosage. In this case, it was an overdose, and considering the kind of medication itself…” Kindaichi bit his lip. “Well, it shouldn’t be anything too serious…”

“Spit it out, then.”

“Dizziness,” Kindaichi said. “Persistent nausea, and you’ve seen what happens to a nauseous phoenix. It’s not pretty. Um… Retained childlike qualities at the mental level for some time into adulthood, for a long-term effect.”

“Oh,” Kunimi said. He grimaced. “That’s not the worst it could be…”

“It’s still bad enough to get me in trouble,” Kindaichi said. He slammed his book shut. “And this—” he gestured to the book “—is getting me nowhere.” 

Kunimi crossed the room to look at the bookshelf under the phoenix poster. The books there were ones Iwaizumi had collected over the years, covering such a wide variety of topics—including magic—that it was often impossible to find any information of value. Iwaizumi hoped to change that one day. “You’d have to ask someone with a specialty in magic if you wanted real results.”

“You know magic, don’t you?” Kindaichi said, a little more aggressively than necessary. “If it’s anything like biology—as I’m fooling myself to think that it is—you should be able to rationalize something from it.”

“I’m not that good,” Kunimi protested. “I’m not going to be any help with what you need. I don’t know medicine, Kindaichi, I’m sorry.”

No matter how basic an element of magic was, the basic principal required years of training to perform. Even then, those who weren’t born naturally having a strong affinity towards it rarely ended up having the ability to conduct more than simple spells. The most common professions for magic-users were, of course, in the medical field, where mistakes in remedies made by rookies were common. Side effects could become very dangerous quickly, and even though Kindaichi had learned very early on that buying from only the best supplies was the only option for success, that didn’t guarantee perfection, just like anything that modified biological functions. 

The result of these dangers, along with those that came with simply performing the act of magic itself, was that anything requiring magic was extremely expensive. The abilities of a mage were highly sought after and commercialized. Kindaichi couldn’t take the risk of attempting to age the phoenix through a potion not only because of the physical effects it might have on the creature, but also because he couldn’t afford a remedy that might only have a negative effect in the long run.

It wasn’t only Kindaichi’s inexperience that held him back. His family wasn’t very rich, but schooling wasn’t a problem because Kindaichi had found his own way in the medical world, and had a tutor of his own. Now that he had enough experience to work independently—partially because he had assistants who could confirm his knowledge and because Kindaichi wasn’t a specialist and rarely dealt with anything too serious—for the most part, he had to find ways to buy his own resources for both his work and to advertise himself, despite not having much competition. Magical remedies worked extremely efficiently when perfected, but Kindaichi couldn’t waste his money on trendy products that weren’t proven and wouldn’t be used.

That was why the opportunity that had led to Kindaichi’s whole mess had been so convenient. If things had worked out—Kindaichi supposed that they still might, if he started doing what he was supposed to—it would have been worth more than Kindaichi could currently spend.

“Tell me again what you did, exactly,” Kunimi said. He rubbed his temples and sighed. “I need to hear this again. I fail to see how you did anything wrong.”

“Long story short, I’m getting paid to try out this new remedial potion that’s supposed to be used to supplement a variety of antibiotic medications, and I decided to try it out with this phoenix because the infection wasn’t so bad that I thought it would be detrimental to its health if something went wrong.” _I’m so ashamed of this. I wish he wasn’t going to make me repeat it._ “I messed up the dosage because the system isn’t like that of normal magic-based remedies. It solved the problem, but it also killed the phoenix, which I didn’t discover until this morning.”

_And then I frantically searched for you and made you take a look at the phoenix, because when I mess up, I lose every ounce of my confidence and require reassurance that I haven’t ruined lives._

“Wow,” Kunimi said. “That’s kind of impressive, honestly.”

“I don’t know how I messed up so badly,” Kindaichi said, ducking his head. “It’s such a beginner’s mistake. I could have prevented all of this just by checking the label again.”

Kunimi raised his eyebrows. “I get that you messed up. But what were the immediate effects after you administered it?”

“There were none, which isn’t usually how magic works!” Kindaichi exclaimed, standing up to pace back and forth in front of his desk. “The phoenix was fine—the product I was trying out didn’t seem to do anything at all, actually—and then I checked on it today and found it dead!” He jabbed a finger in the general direction of the clock hanging on the wall. “I totally panicked and wasted my time, and now its owners are going to pick it up in two hours and I don’t know what to do! Or what even went wrong to begin with!”

Kunimi considered his words for a long moment. He turned away from the bookshelf, evidently giving up his search to find Kindaichi a solution among the mass of unorganized titles. Kindaichi didn’t blame him. Kunimi looked at Kindaichi, hesitated, and then asked, “What’s the problem with killing a phoenix?”

Kindaichi thought that he might cry.

“It’s not killing the phoenix that’s the problem, it’s that it happened too early. There’s a reason their life cycles are so long. Phoenixes need to establish themselves before dying off again, or else we’d never bother treating them, because we could just kill them painlessly when the costs were too expensive, or recovery wouldn’t be easy,” Kindaichi said. If he hadn’t been so worried about the phoenix, he probably would have accompanied his explanation with a roll of his eyes. “Death, though, isn’t good for any animal, even if they can die over and over again. And then artificially aging them right after? Probably not the best idea. This, Kunimi, is why you aren’t a vet.”

Kunimi was a prime example of someone who wanted to work with animals, but didn’t have the guts to look at torn flesh and profuse bleeding and infections that made even the most experienced veterinarians cringe. Kunimi had a long history with magical creatures and had always owned them, but had never considered working in the medical field because he couldn’t stand looking at them when they were grievously injured. Kunimi’s focus wasn’t on medicine or magic—he was a talented archer and, surprisingly, had no problem with inflicting wounds as long as he didn’t have to deal with the aftermath—but he was happy to perform various favors for Kindaichi so that he was at least participating in the work he’d always admired.

Kindaichi wasn’t exactly sure of how he himself had the stomach for veterinary care. Animals were fascinating on the biological level as well as the behavioral one, and putting up with the less than glamorous aspects of taking care of them was worth it if he got to witness it all firsthand.

“Ah, I get it,” Kunimi said. “In other words, there’s nothing you can do.”

“Yup,” Kindaichi said miserably. “I’m going to go check on the phoenix. If there’s nothing I can do about it, I’m going to at least pretend I’m trying to solve the problem intellectually.”

It was okay. Things would get better when Iwaizumi came back. With someone to back him up, Kindaichi always made fewer mistakes, and felt more like he could one day live up to the expectations he held for himself.

 

Things did not get better when Iwaizumi came back.

Iwaizumi was Kindaichi’s saving grace, but he could not solve all of Kindaichi’s problems, including his phoenix problem, which Kindaichi ungracefully solved by reluctantly handing over a baby phoenix to less than pleased owners and praying that they accepted his apologies and wouldn’t spread rumors about his admittedly poor veterinary skills.

It could have been worse, but it was still uncomfortable, and Kindaichi still felt as though he’d failed somehow. His only option was to continue his work, because he had no business continuing on attempting to heal animals if he wasn’t going to continue improving.

Iwaizumi would tell him to be patient, and Kunimi would tell him that he was too hard on himself. And yes, Kindaichi knew that they were correct, but that didn’t mean that he really felt as though he agreed with them. 

“I still don’t understand why we’re here,” Kunimi said, surveying a display of wickedly sharp knives—some curved, some with serrated edges, some so long they could have been considered swords and others small enough to fit in the palm of one’s hand. “Aren’t the tools you use supposed to be—well, delicate?”

“Don’t criticize my tools until you’ve tried to perform surgery on a dragon with a pocket knife,” Kindaichi said grimly. “It’s really not pretty.”

“Do you know that from experience?” Kunimi shook his head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. The blades of bigger knives are thicker than those you’d usually use for surgery. Wouldn’t that mess up your incision?”

“Yes, which is exactly why I’m looking for a sword, not a knife,” Kindaichi said, pointing to a line of swords hanging on the opposite wall. “If you sharpen a knife too much it’ll break, but a sword will stay sturdy no matter how much your sharpen it. The very edge can be used to make the cut.”

“Becoming friends with you was a terrible idea,” Kunimi said, pushing his hair out of his face.

“What? Why?”

Kunimi only shook his head. As much as Kindaichi wanted to question him, he knew that he probably wouldn’t get an answer.

Kunimi did not have to understand his work. A few years ago, Kindaichi also would have been confused, so he didn’t blame him. 

“What’ll be the difference between this sword and the one you already have?” Kunimi asked, gesturing to the scabbard hanging beside Kindaichi’s hip.

“This one is going to be sharper,” Kindaichi said. “And lighter. And it has to be broad so the weight is distributed evenly.”

“Sharper than one you would use as a weapon?” Kunimi said incredulously.

“Obviously,” Kindaichi said. “Do you keep your sword at perfect sharpness all the time?”

“I don’t use a sword.”

“Exactly.”

It didn’t take Kindaichi long to choose a sword, it’s length barely long enough to call it that. It could definitely be sharpened, but Kindaichi could take care of that or ask Kunimi to make the job easier with magic, and the hilt was a little misshapen. It was the best that he could do with his limited budget and without a place to purchase what Kunimi would call proper medical supplies, but, even as a vet, Kindaichi didn’t exactly have an outlet to buy the tools to perform surgery on a dragon.

Kindaichi was lucky that the situation wasn’t too dire, because Kunimi was holding him up with questions that he could probably guess the answers to if he really thought about it.

“I’ll take that one,” Kindaichi said, nodding at the sword on the wall, and Kunimi snickered behind him. “If you don’t shut up I’m going to make _you_ carry this back,” Kindaichi grumbled, and Kunimi only laughed.

Outside, Kunimi’s qilin was waiting for them. It was everything one might think of when they picture a qilin—deer-like and majestic, vibrantly colored and exuding confidence. There was no mistaking the fact that it was a special creature, even among those that were magical.

And the qilin wasn’t just beautiful. Han’ei has fostered a bond with Kunimi that, as far as Kindaichi knew, was fundamentally unbreakable. 

“Han’ei,” Kunimi said, as much of a coo as Kindaichi could ever imagine him making. “I’m sorry, we didn’t leave you for long. It was Yuutarou who held us up.”

“Hey!”

Kindaichi led the way back to his clinic. Han’ei followed closely behind Kunimi, stepping delicately along the well-worn path. Kindaichi’s clinic wasn’t entirely his own, but it had been handed down to him from its past owner, and those in the town itself were well acquainted with the location. The distance wasn’t far, only enough so that Kindaichi had time to think and make himself anxious and pray that Iwaizumi hadn’t returned from his errands yet, because he wasn’t ready to sustain a well-educated conversation about a specific type of connective tissue lining various organs in unicorns.

“What do you need help with today?” Kunimi asked as they ducked inside the clinic. Han’ei had been left outside, even though Kindaichi had technically given the creature the okay to come inside. Kunimi had gotten an angry swish of the tail and an audible grumble for that, but Kunimi paid Han’ei little mind. “Just your daily routine, or are you preparing for surgery?”

“Technically both,” Kindaichi said. “Surgery won’t be until Iwaizumi’s back, but I have plenty to do in the meantime.”

“Let me help,” Kunimi said. “I have too much free time on my hands. It makes me feel good to do something with it.”

Kindaichi didn’t doubt it. Kunimi had training as an archer, but his work more commonly revolved his work with magic and the herbs and other plants he grew to sell to Kindaichi and a few other close correspondents. Much of this work was performed under the guidance of Oikawa Tooru, who had a strong reputation for his magic, the work he did with it practically sold to the highest bidder, and, strangely, often seemed to correspond to Iwaizumi’s work.

“That’d be fantastic,” Kindaichi said, walking into the back room to tuck his new sword into one of the shelves. “I’ve been meaning to take inventory of everything I have in stock, because I’ve been running low on a few things recently. And then, if you weren’t here, I’d bug you to grow your plants faster, because you’re half of the problem.”

Kunimi laughed, but it was clear that he was attempting to keep a straight face. “I don’t see a correlation between the two,” he argued, even though he knew that he was Kindaichi’s main supplier. “It is absolutely your fault so not keeping on top of it yourself.”

“Oh, really?” Kindaichi shot back. He grinned. The banter was familiar and easy. “You’ve been wasting so much of your time here that I would have assumed that you were thinking of taking over, if I didn’t knew any better.”

“Okay, wow, that’s extreme,” Kunimi said. “That’s such a remote theory. You’re off your game.”

“It’s wishful thinking,” Kindaichi said with a sigh. “You already have one foot in the medical world. It would be easy for you to make the jump if you wanted to do it full time.”

“You know that I’ve never wanted that,” Kunimi said, his tone slightly warning, Kindaichi briefly allowed himself to be thankful that Kunimi wasn’t more sensitive over the subject. “Your work isn’t always glamorous.”

“Speaking of which,” Kindaichi said, nodding his head in the direction of the animal cages—which was a general term, to say the least, considering the size of some of their animals, “I really have to do some cleaning. If I give you the charts, can you feed?”

The tension dissolved from Kunimi’s expression. “Sure, why not?”

Kunimi was right—Kindaichi’s work certainly could not be called completely glamorous, but there were a few things that made it worth it—like performing surgery on a dragon.

 

The wounds of a Goldhorn were almost impossible to treat, which seemed to be the opposite of how it should have been. A simple fix would have been to allow the Goldhorn to consume the flowers grown from its own blood, but immediately after it would attempt to escape, likely to injure itself again in an unfamiliar environment. Recently, it had been speculated that it was detrimental to a Goldhorn’s health for them to continuously heal themselves in such a way, but, regardless of whether or not this was true, Kindaichi wasn’t going to let an animal suffer.

More troublesome was that Goldhorns never stayed still.

So, Kindaichi’s decision to drop his routine work for the sake of attempting to heal the Goldhorn was probably not his smartest idea, considering that it was destined to consume much of his morning. 

While Kindaichi believed that every creature should have a shot at life, it was probably better that Goldhorns remained rare, at least in some areas. They were about the size of a mountain goat and could be easily mistaken for them, if only they didn’t possess the spectacular golden horns that made them highly sought after. Not only that, but it was commonly believed that the flowers from a Goldhorn’s wounds might have the same effect on humans that they did on the animal itself, although no official research had been done or could be done to support that claim. Goldhorns had never been domesticated, and as far as Kindaichi could assume from his training, they never would be. 

Rarely did the average person spot a Goldhorn, and every time someone did, Kindaichi heard about it. It was an unspoken rule that sightings of any unusual creature should go to the nearest veterinary clinic, so Kindaichi had seen his fair share of rare creatures in his time as a vet. It was a good reassurance to know that Goldhorns were still out there, although such irregular spottings didn’t allow Kindaichi to guess at their true population size.

Generally, Goldhorns were hard to catch, as they were swifter than they appeared and were even faster when injured. Typically, Kindaichi—and every other vet that Kindaichi had talked to on the matter—wouldn’t bother trying to catch Goldhorns to heal them if their injuries had been the result of a dispute with another creature and weren’t life threatening, but when Goldhorns were injured due to a human’s mistake, then vets took responsibility. 

It had taken Kindaichi over an hour to clean the wound completely. It had stopped bleeding, but the Goldhorn repeatedly attempted to shake Kindaichi away to inspect the wound itself. Kindaichi was sure that the animal would probably have no reservations about reopening the wound. He wasn’t confident in his ability to wrap it without the Goldhorn moving and doing exactly that, but he if he didn’t his work would be for nothing.

“Stay still, please, and stop trying to eat your own flowers,” Kindaichi grumbled, laying out a roll of cotton. “Give me two minutes tops.”

Kindaichi had conveniently left out the fact that he’d have to keep the Goldhorn as still as possible for the next day and potentially rewrap it again in the next few hours. A puncture like this arrow wound was usually something that Kindaichi would treat more strictly, and keeping the animal under his surveillance until it was mostly healed, but things didn’t work like that with Goldhorns. 

That was unfortunate, because punctures needed to heal from the inside out and Kindaichi had no idea how he was going to get that process started when it had taken him this long to get the animal still.

Kindaichi was so lucky that the Goldhorn hadn’t been injured in a way that required stitches.

He was about halfway done with wrapping the wound when the Goldhorn raised its head. Kindaichi flattened out a fold in the wrap as he followed its gaze to look out the window. He was almost done, but if there was a minor disturbance that he could fix in the time it took him to get the Goldhorn comfortable, he could deal with it.

It was not a minor disturbance.

During his time as a vet, Kindaichi had seen a lot of strange things. He shouldn’t have been surprised anymore, really, and should have expected the worst out of every situation, but seeing a catoblepas ramming through a fence and into a vegetable patch was completely new to him.

_I knew that I was right when I told Iwaizumi that keeping it around was a bad idea!_

“You know what?” Kindaichi quickly unwound the bandage. “I don’t care anymore. Go ahead. Leave whenever you want. The door’s open.”

The Goldhorn stared at him for a long moment. And then it seemed to sink in all at once, the Goldhorn scrambling to its feet and galloping out the door, throwing a buck that had surely torn open the wound again as it raced for the mountains.

Belatedly, Kindaichi realized that he probably shouldn’t have released a Goldhorn when townspeople had gathered to gawk at a creature that could turn them all to stone if it glared at them, but he’d never claimed to have the most sound common sense, which was also probably took him an additional ten seconds before he thought to grab a rope from under the counter and run outside.

Kunimi had been one of the first people to arrive on the scene. He was watching the catoblepas with a sort of detached horror, bow in hand. Han’ei stood beside him, sporting a similar expression. The moment he turned his eyes on Kindaichi, his gaze turned accusatory. “Is this terrifying beast yours? Yuutarou, I don’t know how you’re supposed to trap it.”

To the outsider’s perspective, the catoblepas was probably terrifying. It was slightly smaller than a boar—this one in particular still growing—but had about the same build. It had narrow eyes, a coarse mane, and a heavy head that naturally hung to the ground, which, Kindaichi supposed, was one’s only protection about its stare, which could instantly turn a person or animal to stone. Its breath was probably more terrifying, also killing instantly, but leading toward a more painful death involving seizures.

If Kindaichi hadn’t had previous experience with the animal, and didn’t know how to handle it, he would have been terrified.

“No, it’s not scary, don’t shoot it! Don’t panic, it’ll panic!” Kindaichi exclaimed. “It won’t try to hurt you unless you threaten it. Look—it’s a vegetarian!”

“Vegetarian?” Kunimi snarled. “Hippos are herbivores!”

“They’re omnivores!” Kindaichi said defensively. 

“Does it really matter?” Kunimi asked, exasperated.

 _Well,_ Kindaichi thought gloomily, tightening his grip on his rope, _this one is a little more dangerous than a hippopotamus._

It took Kindaichi and Kunimi the rest of the afternoon to trap the catoblepas, and even then, it was likely only because it had let them. Kindaichi was tired and sore and hungry by the time he’d successfully led the catoblepas back to the area Iwaizumi had been keeping it in. If he’d been in any worse of a mood, he probably would have freed it on the spot, but Iwaizumi would chew him out for it—as he probably would the Goldhorn—and it was better that he took a day to bring the catoblepas out into the wilderness to do so, and even then, only on horseback. 

Kunimi was in a terrible mood, but Kindaichi didn’t blame him. He’d been dragged all over town and back due to Kindaichi’s insistence on capturing the creature humanely. Kunimi easily could have solved the problem with magic, or by injuring it enough to distract it so that Kindaichi could capture it, or sending Han’ei after it. Kindaichi had not been willing to risk angering the catoblepas, though, and as strong as Kunimi’s argument was, he’d rather waste time than end up killing them all.

Hopefully Iwaizumi didn’t kill him for it anyway, though, especially when he found out that he’d gotten none of his regular work done, and had therefore put the whole clinic behind schedule.

_It’s my own fault. I should have listened to Kunimi. It’s just another one of the mistakes I just can’t seem to stop making, and now it’s hindering my work. I’m absolutely helpless._

 

Kunimi’s anger with him didn’t last, thankfully, although Kindaichi would have liked to make it up to him properly. Kunimi, though, became totally content when he was fed, so Kindaichi didn’t have to do much.

“You don’t need me for memorization,” Kunimi complained. He tossed Han’ei something and the qilin ate it with a quiet snuffle of excitement. Kindaichi suspected that it wasn’t anything he should have been feeding a qilin—probably table scraps from what they’d just eaten. “Even Iwaizumi’s impressed with your knowledge of anatomy. That’s a huge compliment.”

“You asked for this,” Kindaichi said, pulling textbooks from his bookshelf. He slammed them down on his desk and Kunimi jumped. “If you want to stop we will. I’ve been putting this off forever, so if you give me an excuse I could keep doing that.”

“Right, of course,” Kunimi said sarcastically. “And next time we’re going to be discussing he anatomy of plants. I have to educate you as much as you’ve educated me.”

Kindaichi ignored him. Kunimi was only teasing him, after all, and he needed to get to work. He sat down and chose a book at random, flipping through the table of contents for what he was looking for.

“It’s nice, though, that you’re always trying for more,” Kunimi said, leaning forward in his seat. “Some vets would accept that they’re competent and hold faith in that knowledge.”

“I’m not perfect,” Kindaichi said, face coloring rapidly. “If I don’t keep learning I’ll fall behind. And more discoveries are being made daily. I have to follow them if I’m ever going to be able to draw conclusions on my own.”

Kunimi stared at him for a long moment, face blank. And then he nodded, his eyes slightly but uncharacteristically wide. “I guess that’s a good way to think of it. What do you want me to test you on?”

“Here,” Kindaichi said, pointing to a diagram. “It’s a person, but the logistics can easily be applied to other animals.”

“Alright.” Kunimi made a face as he pulled the book closer to him, tilting it so that Kindaichi couldn’t see it. “Where is the… extensor hallucis longus tendon?”

“Easy. It’s right above the foot, beside the deep fibular nerve… I’d have to show you because I’m assuming you don’t know the rest of them.”

“Er… extensor carpi radialis longus.”

“You can tell by the name. You’re terrible at quizzing people,” Kindaichi said, taking the book out of his hands. “I know where everything is. I need specific details—not just how they work together, but why, and what makes them.”

“You know that I don’t know enough to keep up with you,” Kunimi argued. “This could help. Just because you can point things out in a book doesn’t mean you can do it on an actual organism.”

“Right, but I know how to do that,” Kindaichi said.

“Look who’s getting cocky now.” Kunimi stood up and dragged his chair closer to Kindaichi’s. “I don’t believe that you can show me all of them. Point to them on me.”

_This doesn’t sound like a good idea._

“Um, okay…” Kindaichi turned his chair, and suddenly they were inches apart and Kindaichi’s heart was beating faster than it should have been.

“So, what was it that you were saying about people and animals being similar?” Kunimi asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

_Oh, right. He’s quizzing me._

“Animal and human musculoskeletal systems are much the same,” Kindaichi said. “There are a few differences in placement, but it’s more or less the same.” He brushed his fingers over Kunimi’s shoulder. “Here’s the deltoid. This has almost the exact same placement in dogs and cats, because the arms and legs match up better than most. The bones and muscles are sort of flipped between animals like horses and people, though.”

“How so?”

“The bicep is on the back leg, for one,” Kindaichi said, running his hand down Kunimi’s arm. “Bad example, though. It is on dogs, too.”

Kunimi laughed. “I’m not sure I trust you on this, then.”

“I wouldn’t trust me, either,” Kindaichi said. 

“Why not? You’re trustworthy. Just because you’re not perfect—and nobody is, Yuutarou—doesn’t mean you can’t be trusted,” Kunimi said. 

Kindaichi frowned. “I guess you’re right, but I still don’t believe that I should be the first person anyone comes to when they have a problem. Which I know sounds weird because I’m a vet, but it’s true. There are more experienced vets out there.”

"You’re my best friend. If I didn’t trust you, we wouldn’t be so close,” Kunimi said. He turned his head and Kindaichi almost flinched away, because they were _so close,_ but instead froze in his seat. “People don’t come to you not knowing that they could have someone else. They trust you, too. It takes a lot to trust someone with your pet’s life.”

That thought was dizzying. Kindaichi broke his eye contact with Kunimi and looked over to Han’ei, who was lying beside the desk, eyes closed. Kunimi’s bond with his qilin was so intense, something Kindaichi had never had with a magical creature even though he’d become close with many over the course of his career. Kindaichi had known going into his career that people would be relying on him, but it was easier not to think about as he actually worked. Kindaichi still wasn’t used to it.

He didn’t think that he would ever be used to it. It was a special feeling, and Kindaichi had never believed that he deserved it. The attention wasn’t exactly unwanted—Kindaichi didn’t know how to describe it. It didn’t belong with the rest of Kindaichi’s personality.

“Tell me more,” Kunimi said, and Kindaichi did so, self-indulgently, without hesitation.

Kunimi had, always put up with Kindaichi’s rambling, and Kindaichi was immensely grateful for that. When he’d first really started his training, he’d needed to learn so much in a short period of time that he’d often become overwhelmed. Kunimi had let him recite facts and explain concepts back to him for the sake of his training, and it had become a habit that had never really died out. Kindaichi was more thankful for this than he could put into words.

Kindaichi lifted Kunimi’s hand, tracing his thumb over his knuckles. “The bones in a human’s hands are reflected in the bones of a kitsune’s paws, and the hooves of a qilin,” he murmured, letting their fingers entwine.”It’s all there. The different structures are suited to a creature’s needs—their adaptations.”

“That’s fascinating. Your passion for your work if kind of cute, you know,” Kunimi said, just a touch breathlessly, but he didn’t look up from where their hands met. “I understand the limbs. Is it the same with the rest of the body?”

_He said I’m cute—he said something I did was cute—oh, what does that mean, what am I going to do, did he mean it?_

“It’s the same up the spine, and in the head to protect the brain. People and animals are alike in the end,” Kindaichi said, letting his other hand travel back up, along Kunimi’s neck, his palm finally coming to rest against Kunimi’s jaw. “This is why we can coexist, in an balance that cannot be replicated.”

_I actually did it, oh, no, what if Kunimi freaks out, what if he’s disgusted, what if he pulls away, I hope he doesn’t hate me, I hope something comes from this moment._

Kunimi met his eyes steadily, and leaned into his hand, so slightly Kindaichi thought that he must have been imagining it. “That’s beautiful,” he said, and Kindaichi’s head spun, and he wondered for a moment what Kunimi was talking about.

“These animals are beautiful, with or without magic,” Kindaichi whispered. He combed the tips of his fingers through what he could reach of Kunimi’s hair, and Kunimi shuddered. “Life is beautiful.”

The moment was over as soon as it had begun. Kindaichi let his hand drop, but they were still close, and the atmosphere was comfortable and not at all awkward. Kindaichi was left with a warm feeling of fuzzy contentment, because what he’d done hadn’t made things weird at all.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Kindaichi asked, standing up even though his chest ached when he separated them. “It’s no problem.

“I’m fine,” Kunimi said.

There was a blush painting his cheeks. Kindaichi had only seen him blush on a few rare occasions, and it was always startling. Kindaichi was sure that he was just as bad himself, but he had no idea how aware of it Kunimi was.

It made Kindaichi smile, but he didn’t point it out. He didn’t need to.

Kindaichi sat back down and nudged a warm drink towards Kunimi—in his favorite mug, out of the few Kindaichi kept at the clinic, and Kunimi gave him the smallest of smiles.

Time passed, and eventually Kunimi gave up on studying with Kindaichi. They talked about Han’ei for a while, until Kunimi said that he was tired and Kindaichi had to, reluctantly, admit that it was late.

“Thank you, for tonight,” Kunimi said as he stood in the doorway, glancing up to meet Kindaichi’s eyes, only briefly. Han’ei was leaning against him, drowsiness evident in the way it carried itself. “I… needed that distraction. Oikawa hasn’t been easy on me lately, even though I know I need to stop skipping out on things.”

“Oikawa’s only being hard on you because he likes you,” Kindaichi corrected. “You told me earlier that I should have pride in what Iwaizumi says to me, so I think that the same thing applies to you. Oikawa’s standards are high as well.”

“But you want to succeed, so badly,” Kunimi said with a shake of his head. “That’s the difference between us. I want it, I enjoy it… but you’ll never stop, even when it hurts.”

_What’s that supposed to mean? Is he implying something by that, or does he just mean what it sounds like? Is he talking down about himself? If he is, I should really stop him. He’s so much better than he thinks he is._

“I know that probably doesn’t make much sense,” Kunimi said, catching on to Kindaichi’s expression. “But I mean it, and you’ll go far with it, Yuutarou.” 

Kunimi had always been supportive of him. He’d been with Kindaichi every step of the way, through all of his struggles. He’d felt all of Kindaichi’s pain and his happiness. Iwaizumi was Kindaichi’s loyal teacher, who understood him and helped him unconditionally. He was more supportive of Kindaichi than he probably deserved.

But nobody had ever said anything like that to Kindaichi before, and he had no idea of what to make of it.

_Can I even believe that?_

_Maybe one day, I will, but I need to grow so much before that’ll ever happen._

“Good night, Yuutarou. Think about what I said,” Kunimi said. When Kindaichi looked up, there was a tiny smile on his face, one that he couldn’t interpret, one that would surely consume his thoughts later on. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Tomorrow,” Kindaichi said, a little flustered. “Akira—”

Kunimi had already turned away, but still within earshot. If Kindaichi really wanted to, he could call him back and attempt to explain to him the thoughts that were tied in knots in his mind. He knew that Kunimi could tease them free. He’d always had that power with Kindaichi.

But Kindaichi had thinking to do, and it wasn’t just because Kunimi had told him that that he believed it. 

So he let Kunimi go, although it wasn’t for long, because Kunimi would return to him soon and they’d pick up right where they’d left off.

 

Kunimi was fifteen when his qilin came to him, and whether or not it was sheer luck or fate still confused Kindaichi to this day.

He and Kindaichi had only met when they were twelve, but by the time they were fifteen, they were inseparable. It was as though they’d known each other for much longer, and that was a common thread of thought amount outsiders as well. One could say that Kindaichi’s life had changed forever when he’d met Kunimi, and it had, but the day that had really sealed his future had been when he was fifteen, the day they’d met Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

Kindaichi’s first (and lasting) impression of them had been that they were incredible people, smart and honorable and proficient at what they did. Kindaichi had heard stories about them, and already admired them. Seeing them work in person made his feelings more real, and strong.

“There are countless paths you can take if you want to work with magical creatures,” Oikawa had said, wearing a broad grin. He spread his arms wide, as if to gesture to the whole building—a menagerie, if one was to call it that—as an example. “We’re honored to have you here, and we’re going to show you exactly what we’ve been doing and you’ll decide for yourselves whether or not you’re interested.”

There had been something dangerous in Oikawa’s voice, and it took Kindaichi as long as it had taken him to get to know him decently well to understand what it was that had made him sound that way.

“You don’t need magic to be able to do well with these creatures,” Iwaizumi had added, looking at Kindaichi. “I don’t have it, and I’ve done perfectly fine.”

“To your standards!” Oikawa sang, and Iwaizumi’s eye twitched.

Kunimi was about thirteen when he’d realized that he had magic. It was weak, and nothing to be jealous over, and even though he’d been told the training that he’d undergo in order to transform it into something usable, he’d immediately had his future planned out for himself. That plan had changed countless times over the past few years, but the basic principle had remained the same—he wanted to use his magic to benefit animals, or he wasn’t going to use it at all.

Oikawa gave them a tour of his facility, which also appeared to be a sort of vet clinic for Iwaizumi. The two worked together—Oikawa grew plants in the magnificent greenhouse he’d showed them through, then brewed remedies himself, having studied extensively the effects of magic on the systems of organisms, those with magic and those without. He possessed such a vast knowledge of biology that it made Kindaichi’s head spin. That didn’t even count what Iwaizumi did. Iwaizumi put Oikawa’s science to the test in actual veterinary work, and they were only two years older than Kindaichi and Kunimi.

Oikawa was also a brilliant archer. Kunimi was transfixed, and Kindaichi knew then that Kunimi had made his decision as to whom he was going to go on his apprenticeship with.

“Don’t like this guy take all the glory,” Iwaizumi said with a scowl, jabbing his thumb at Oikawa. “The higher level science and magic that he does is brilliant, but it wouldn’t happen if not for a steady base. It’s easy to overlook basic anatomy and physiology. Sometimes the answer is just in how simple something is, be it the creature you’re working on or the plant you’re using. When magic is involved, anything can happen, and someone needs to keep a hold on the fundamentals to make sure that nothing preventable can go awry.”

Kindaichi hadn’t even considered that, He’d been convinced that he needed magic to be successful with animals, but that wasn’t true. Working with them wasn’t always fun, either, but Iwaizumi hadn’t needed to say that explicitly. And the conclusions Kindaichi was able to draw ere Iwaizumi’s point.

“And you do all that?” Kindaichi had asked in wonder, referencing everything that had gone unsaid between them.

The harsh expression melted off of Iwaizumi’s face. He probably hadn’t expected to find anyone who cared, not after Oikawa’s grand performance. “I sure do. Are you interested?”

Kindaichi had been somewhat intimidated by Iwaizumi, but Iwaizumi seemed adamant on cracking Kindaichi’s shell and getting him to talk about his own interested in magical creatures and, potentially, medical work. And Kindaichi didn’t even have to think about Kunimi, who was happily chatting away with Oikawa, probably deciding on the specifics of his apprenticeship. The thought was overwhelming to Kindaichi. 

“Oh! But one thing before you leave!” Oikawa had said, his words clearly unscripted, and if Kindaichi hadn’t been fascinated before, he definitely was then.

What he had to show then was something that he appeared to be keeping a secret, partially, from Iwaizumi, based on Iwaizumi’s less-than-pleased reaction to Oikawa bringing up the topic without them having talked about it beforehand.

When he did show them what it was, both Kindaichi and Kunimi had gasped. The qilin lying there was gorgeous, although young and in recovery. Oikawa regarded it proudly, saying that he was planning on finding someone to form a bond with it, someone who would not only treat it as a pet but also as a partner. The qilin had been given the opportunity to leave before, but had chosen to wait around Oikawa’s clinic. It seemed to be searching for someone.

When it laid eyes on Kunimi, one could say that it had found what it was looking for.

“Only those who are pure of heart may form a bond with a qilin,” Oikawa said, watching as Kunimi reached out to touch the qilin with trembling hands. “They’re extremely selective. Each has its own taste in people. They’re brilliant creatures, and this one is something special.”

“Kunimi can handle that,” Kindaichi said without hesitation. “He has the heart for that, and he loves these animals. This is everything he’s ever wanted.”

“Hm, it’s interesting for you to say that,” Oikawa said loftily. He caught Kindaichi’s gaze and then turned away, back to Kunimi. “I wonder what Kunimi-chan would say if he knew you felt that way.”

“Quit starting trouble,” Iwaizumi growled at him. “You really don’t think about how others feel before you speak, do you?”

Kunimi had walked away from the experience with a qilin, an incredibly beautiful magical creature, for a partner, and his dream apprenticeship. But Kindaichi wasn’t jealous. The more he thought about Iwaizumi’s words, the less he cared about the headstart Kunimi had on him, although he was happy for him. Iwaizumi had had a way of making his work sound like the most interesting thing in the world. There was a certain beauty to the science, that required dedication and hard work and a different kind of artistry than the type Kunimi possessed and that Kindaichi had been unrealistically chasing after.

Kunimi didn’t have to be the only one whose decision was made. Kindaichi had a solution staring him in the face, one that was perfect for him, and if he could get excited over it, the opportunity was his for the taking.

 

Kindaichi had seen many frightening things during his time as a veterinarian, things that stuck with him as lessons he’d learned—but also in his nightmares. He’d seen plenty of head injuries—they were dangerous, and bled a lot, but often looked worse than they actually were, which Kindaichi had learned the hard way. He’d made a mistake in surgery once, only realizing when he’d been stitching the wound, and he’d panicked for a solid two minutes before getting himself under control and fixing it. He’d dealt with creatures that could kill him instantly, balancing on a thin line between mutual need and chaos. He had handled the guilt of failing to save an animal, and he’d gotten past it, going on to save many, but never quite resolving that guilt.

Kindaichi was not naive enough to believe that he’d seen the worst out of the world of medicine, but also knew that avoiding problems could make one feel worse than if they'd taken on the challenge. No vet could easily forget the sights they’d seen. They were haunting, and never left one’s mind.

But waking up to the sound of his best friend screaming topped all of those experiences.

“Yuutarou, Yuutarou, get up, oh, gods, I need you, Yuutarou—“ 

Kindaichi jerked awake and sat up with a gasp. Kunimi was hovering over him, red-faced, panting, his eyes glassy. “Wha—?” Kindaichi rubbed his eyes, confused and startled. 

“Yuutarou, Yuutarou, please, get up—“

“What? What’s wrong?” Kindaichi demanded, hands on Kunimi’s shoulders. “Hey, talk to me, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Han’ei,” Kunimi choked, not even bothering to hide the tears that slipped down his cheeks, and Kindaichi’s heart didn’t even have time to drop before he’d thrown away the covers and jumped out of his bed.

“Where?!” Kindaichi asked, dashing to the door to put on his shoes. He didn’t live far from his clinic, especially at a run, but he absolutely had to stop there before he could be of any use.

“The edge of town,” Kunimi gasped. “We tried, but we couldn’t bring Han’ei any farther.”

“It was injured? Badly?” Kunimi’s bottom lip wobbled. “I need to know, I’m sorry, Akira.”

Kunimi’s silence—his mouth was open, but the only sound that escaped was a whine—was enough of an answer. 

“Ah, okay.” Kindaichi reached for Kunimi’s hand and squeezed tightly. “Come on, I have to pick some things up, and then we can go, but you’re going to have to answer some questions, okay? Is anyone with Han’ei now?”

“Oikawa,” Kunimi said.

They didn’t talk anymore on the way. Kunimi was clearly inconsolable, but he kept up with the pace Kindaichi ran at, and he didn’t let go of Kindaichi’s hand.

Kindaichi fumbled with the lock on the door, but got it open quickly. His hands were trembling and it took him a second to adjust to the lighting inside, but as soon as he did, he didn’t waste time in yanking a first-aid kit off the wall and tanking open various cabinets. 

_I can’t do this is I don’t know what happened or how bad it is. Akira’s too upset to tell me the details, and I don’t blame him, because he doesn’t have the immunity medical professionals do._

“What happened?” Kindaichi said, digging furiously through the cabinets. A few rolls of tape went crashing to the ground, but he didn’t even stop to think about picking them up.

“Oikawa and I went out for extra training at night,” Kunimi said, although Kindaichi could hardly make out his words. “I don’t know—I don’t know w-what it was, but it attacked us before we could even recognize it.”

“Was the wound made by magic?”

“I don’t—I don’t know—!”

_Are the wounds deep? How much are they bleeding? Where are they? I could ask a million questions, but we don’t have time for that. I can only pray that whatever I bring will be enough to get Han’ei back here safely, at the very least._

“What’s Oikawa doing right now?” Kindaichi scrambled to shove his supplies in a bag. “He didn’t usually carry anything on him.”

_He has his magic, which is usually enough to keep a magical creature alive for a short period of time, if need be._

_Hopefully it hasn’t reached that point already, because if it has, I don’t think I can save it._

“He’s trying to stop the bleeding—but there’s so much—and Iwaizumi, he’s trying to get Iwaizumi, he promised he would.”

_If Iwaizumi’s there, I can do it. This won’t all be on me, and there’s no way we won’t save Han’ei._

Kindaichi shouldn’t have felt relieved. If Iwaizumi couldn’t make it, he was done for. And it only showed how pathetic he was. Kunimi needed him—and yet, even at a time like this, he was doubting himself.

He wouldn’t have felt more guilty about it if he hadn’t felt like his heart was about to pound out of his chest.

“Lead the way,” Kindaichi said, finally standing up, and relief washed over Kunimi’s expression.

Their sense of urgency hadn’t decreased despite their stop. Kunimi has put himself together faster than Kindaichi had anticipated, but they were both running on pure adrenaline now, and a bit of their shared terror. Kunimi led Kindaichi in what could be considered a dead sprint—especially considering Kunimi himself—and Kindaichi didn’t ask him to stop.

Even injured, Han’ei was impossible to miss. The qilin was stretched out on the ground, Oikawa kneeled by its shoulder. Oikawa glances around briefly when Kindaichi and Kunimi arrived, but said nothing. His mouth was set in a thin line, and Kindaichi belatedly realized that he had torn up his own jacket to use as temporary bandaging.

The few pieces of cloth nearby, dyed red, didn’t look promising. 

Kunimi’s breath hitches audibly when he saw Han’ei, But Kindaichi immediately dropped to his knees next to Oikawa, dumping out the contents of his bag. They didn’t have water, and Kindaichi had no idea where he’d put anything, but he couldn’t afford to waste time.

_Wait._

_Oh, no._

“Where’s Iwaizumi-san?” Kindaichi asked.

“I couldn’t get to him,” Oikawa said. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in his voice. Kindaichi guessed that this was probably for the better. “Pass me some of that gauze, would you?”

_I can’t do this alone!_

“Sure, yes,” Kindaichi said, pushing the whole bag over to Oikawa. “Has the bleeding stopped at all?”

“Not really. I haven’t been able to work on all the deep ones at once, and the smaller wounds need cleaning,” Oikawa said. His voice was uncharacteristically small. He leaned closer to Kindaichi and whispered, “You might want to send Kunimi out on that. It’s killing him to see this.”

The sight of so much blood was probably sickening to Kunimi. The scent hung in the air, thick and coppery, and the grass underneath Han’ei was too dark. Kindaichi was used to seeing blood, and he knew that qilins had a lot to spare, but if they couldn’t slow the bleeding soon, Han’ei would be in trouble.

The wounds themselves weren’t terrible. But they were deep and numerous, and blood loss was a pressing issue. Kindaichi added a few more layers of gauze to the wound he had his hands on, and then turned to look at Kunimi.

“Kunimi, we needing water,” Kindaichi said, attempting to keep his voice level. “I promise that nothing will happen, and Oikawa-san and I will keep working. Do you think you could get it?”

Kunimi stared at Kindaichi for a moment before his words seemed to register. And then he nodded, and it looked like he was clenching his jaw. “How should I...?”

“There are buckets by the stream bed,” Kindaichi told him. _Just in case. I thought I’d never use them._ “Steal them if you have to.”

Kunimi nodded at him again. He clenched his fists and ran off as soon as it was clear that Kindaichi had nothing else to say.

Kindaichi wished that he had something to say—reassurance, information, anything.

“Listen, Kindaichi,” Oikawa said, as soon as Kunimi was out of earshot. “I’d go find Iwa-chan, but Han’ei needs care now. If something goes wrong and we have to resort to stronger magic, you need me here. And that could happen at any time.” He gritted his teeth. “It’s better that we don’t risk it.”

“What about Kunimi? Why can’t he do the magic?”

“Kindaichi, do you really think Kunimi’s capable of magic right now?” Oikawa shook his head. “I should have prepared him for something like this. It’s my fault for bringing him out so late. If Han’ei doesn’t make it, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Help me, then, Oikawa,” Kindaichi pleaded. “I can’t do this on my own.”

Kindaichi didn’t need to explain. This was Oikawa, Iwaizumi’s best friend, and a brilliant teacher. Oikawa nodded. “What do you need first?”

“I need you to tell me what happened,” Kindaichi said. He began rummaging through his bag. “Kunimi wasn’t able to, but any information at all would help.”

Oikawa sighed. “That’s the thing. I don’t really know. It was some creature—clawed, looked kind of like a big cat—and it didn’t use magic. We startled it, it attacked us, and Han’ei stepped in and provoked it.”

 

“Why?”

“Qilins will do anything for their owners in a fight,” Oikawa explained. He laughed shortly, wry and bubbling up with unshed tears. “They’re the most loyal creatures. They’ll die for the ones they love. Gods—why is there so much blood?”

“I don’t know,” Kindaichi said, about as hysterically. “It just—“

“Keeps coming. Do you have any more of that cotton?”

“Can you wrap leg wounds?”

Panic flashed briefly across Oikawa’s expression. “Yes, but—“

“I don’t care, just do it. I can’t work on these until the bleeding stops.”

“Here,” Kunimi said, reappearing by Kindaichi’s side. He lowered a bucket of water by his knees, and another next to Oikawa. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Use that and dab at the small cuts on its face, and then put this on it.“ Kindaichi reached into his bag and then tossed Kunimi a bottle. “Just a thin layer.”

Kunimi nodded, slowly kneeling down next to Han’ei. The qilin whined softly as Kunimi stroked its face, and then pressed a cloth soaked in water to a long scratch below its eye. 

They worked in relative silence. Even as the bleeding slowed, Kindaichi didn’t become more optimistic. He had no way to measure how much blood Han’ei had lost, but there was no way that it wasn’t feeling the effects of it. The pain, as well, must have been excruciating.

“We need to get Han’ei to my clinic,” Kindaichi murmured. “I can’t do much out here, and Han’ei needs pain meds.”

“Moving Han’ei will be difficult,” Oikawa mused.

“What else can we do?” Kunimi asked, voice tight.

“Well, now we wait, until the bleeding stops, and then I’ll treat for infection.” _Immediate danger has passed, but infection could set in all too easily and lead to death._ “But I don’t...”

_I can’t say that, not now._

_There’s nobody who can do this but me._

_I’d never forgive myself if I let Han’ei die. I’d never let Kunimi forgive me._

What had Iwaizumi told him, before? When he was lost, and there seemed to be no other solution?

_Trust your knowledge, and the basics. Trust what you know about anatomy, about healing. You know this information, don’t you?_

Kindaichi’s hands were sticky with blood. He dipped them in the water and rubbed his hands together to get most of it off. He took a shuddering breath, looking over Han’ei’s wounds one more time, and made a decision.

“Some of these cuts need stitches,” he told Kunimi. “They’re mostly lacerations, but I’ll still have to be careful and change the bandages when need be. I’m going to sit the rest of the night with it. Go home and get some rest, Akira.”

“I can’t make you do that alone,” Kunimi argued.

“We’ll take turns,” Oikawa interrupted. He gave Kindaichi a look. “Listen to Kindaichi. We’ll wake you up if anything significant changes.”

Kunimi hesitated. Kindaichi knew that, if he hadn’t been so tired and in shock, he wouldn’t have even considered saying yes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Kindaichi said. “Sleep. When you wake up Han’ei will be at the clinic and the stitches will be done.”

Kunimi licked his lips. “Han’ei... will Han’ei be okay?”

“You know I don’t usually like to say so so early,” Kindaichi warned. “And I can’t say anything for certain.”

“I know,” Kunimi said. “But—“

“If treatment goes well, then yes,” Kindaichi said. “And I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you,” Kunimi whispered. His expression was unreadable. He paused, and then turned his back on Han’ei.

_Good. If something goes wrong now, I don’t want him to see it._

“I know you’re not going to want to take turns,” Oikawa said, “so I’m going to find Iwa-chan. Although I’d say you have things covered, Kindaichi.”

“I—uh—yes.” 

“I’ll help prescribe medication in the morning,” Oikawa said, running a hand down Han’ei’s neck. Han’ei barely twitched. “Magical ones, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to keep Han’ei or Kunimi suffering for longer than necessary.”

“That’s probably best,” Kindaichi admitted. “Even though I don’t like it.” He scowled. “I just wish I’d done more. I panicked.”

“It didn’t show. You did well, Kindaichi,” Oikawa said. “Iwa-chan will be proud.”

“It looked worse than it actually was.”

“Right, but that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t terrifying for you to wake up like that, or have to respond to such a personal emergency,” Oikawa said. “Kunimi is lucky to have you.” He stood up and dusted off his hands. “He deserves to know how much you care about him.”

“I think he already knows.”

Oikawa was quiet for a moment. And then he smiled. “I suppose you’re right about that.”

 

It was almost dawn by the time Oikawa had located Iwaizumi and the two made it back to the clinic. Kindaichi met them out front, stiff-legged from sitting in the same position for hours, watching over Han’ei, who was currently asleep and under the influence of an abundance of medication. 

The moment Iwaizumi saw Kindaichi, he enveloped him in a tight hug. Kindaichi almost choked with relief.

Kindaichi hadn’t realized how tired he was until now, as he stood in his mentor’s arms. Kindaichi swallowed a sob and hugged him back just as tightly, taking deep breaths to compose himself.

“You did so well, Yuutarou,” Iwaizumi said. “I’m so proud of you. I could never imagine how scared you must have been, but you did what you were supposed to despite that.”

“I just followed your training,” Kindaichi said. “I should have been better, though. I… I didn’t want to put your training to waste, though.”

Iwaizumi’s expression softened. “You don’t have to worry about that. You could never fail me, as long as you do everything in your power at every opportunity. You have such heart, and that’s what makes a good vet.”

_I’m so lucky to have him as my mentor, someone I can always come back to, even now that I’m more independent._

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kindaichi said, looking down at himself. “I’m covered.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to blood. I’ve done a lot of surgery on large animals before,” Iwaizumi said dismissively. He glanced at Oikawa. “Tooru told me most of the story, but I want to hear it from you, too. And then take me to Han’ei, please.”

Kindaichi recited the story to Iwaizumi, describing Han’ei injuries as best as he could, answering the questions he knew Iwaizumi would ask about the wounds. Oikawa supplemented his knowledge when he needed it, especially about the attack itself. Iwaizumi frowned, but appeared happier when he saw Han’ei.

“And Kunimi’s not back yet?” Iwaizumi asked. “He must be exhausted.”

“He was,” Oikawa said. “I’ve never seen him lose his composure like that.”

_I have._

“I don’t blame him,” Iwaizumi said, sitting down beside Han’ei. “He must feel so guilty.” He touched his hand to the bandage on Han’ei’s right front leg. “You did a great job with all of this, considering the lack of supplies. It shouldn’t be long before you can fix it up a bit. I’d try to redo the smaller wounds before the painkillers wear off.”

“Actually, Oikawa did the wrap on that leg.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “I’m shocked, honestly. He always tried to skip out on helping me, even though he knows it’s important for someone like him to have at least the bare minimum knowledge of emergency care.”

“I’ve always known that that information was valuable, and I’ve acted on it!” Oikawa protested. “For times like this.”

Kindaichi would have responded, but there was a knock at the door, and he jumped. “That’s probably Kunimi,” he said, a mixture of nervousness and excitement welling up in his chest at the same time. 

He didn’t wait for Iwaizumi or Oikawa to respond. He pushed open the door and made his way to the front, where Kunimi was waiting for him, anxiety clear on his face.

“I’m sorry to bother, but I didn’t want to barge in—just in case—” Kunimi wrung his hands. “Is Han’ei—”

“Stable,” Kindaichi said. “I think it’ll be alright. And Iwaizumi is taking a look at it now, so if there’s anything I missed, he’ll catch it.”

Tears welled up in Kunimi’s eyes. He stumbled over to Kindaichi, and hugged him fiercely. 

“It’s okay, Akira,” Kindaichi whispered, returning the embrace. Kunimi’s shoulders were shaking. Kindaichi tucked Kunimi’s head under his chin. “Han’ei’s okay now. Everything’s going to be okay. And if it’s not, I’ll fix it.”

“Thank you so much,” Kunimi said, voice muffled in Kindaichi’s neck, “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to express how much this means to me.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Kindaichi said. “And I think I already know. You don’t have to tell me. Say, uh, do you want to go see Han’ei now? It’s asleep, but—”

“Let’s go!” Kunimi said. He pulled away from Kindaichi and looked around. “Where is it?”

“In the back—”

Kunimi took off before Kindaichi could finish speaking, He didn’t care. He grinned and followed after him, feeling immensely relieved.

Kunimi gasped when he saw Han’ei, but he didn’t look upset. He sat down beside Han’ei, next to Oikawa, and reached out to touch the qilin’s face. Oikawa leaned close and whispered something to him, and then hugged him.

“Oikawa and I are going to get something to eat,” Iwaizumi said, once Oikawa and Kunimi had parted. “We’ll be back soon.”

Kindaichi sent Iwaizumi a grateful look. _I really need to talk to Kunimi. Thank you, Iwaizumi._

Oikawa stood up and ruffled Kunimi’s hair. “Want us to bring anything back for you?”

“I’m good—” Kunimi started to say, but not before Kindaichi interrupted him with a nod, and said, “I don’t need anything, but Akira needs to eat. If we don’t make him now, he probably won’t all day.”

“Fine, but Yuutarou stayed up all night. I’ll pay for his,” Kunimi said. “And thank you.”

Oikawa winked. “Aw, it’s no problem, Kunimi-chan! Now you and Kindaichi—”

“You never know when to shut your mouth, do you?” Iwaizumi grabbed on to the back of Oikawa’s shirt and gave it a sharp tug. “Come on, let’s go.”

Oikawa complained the whole time as Iwaizumi dragged him out the door, but Kindaichi heard none of it. He looked only at Kunimi, whose eyes were all for Han’ei. He was patting the qilin, carefully avoiding the bandages, talking to it softly. 

His voice cracked, and Kindaichi took Kunimi’s hands in his.

“I wasn’t lying to you when I said that I think Han’ei will be perfectly fine,” Kindaichi said. “There’s a risk of infection right now, but as long as we keep on top of that, there shouldn’t be a problem. And the recovery time won’t be short, but it’ll be manageable.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Kunimi said. “A few hours ago, I didn’t think that I’d have Han’ei at all. I’m just happy for that. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit,” Kindaichi said.

“I’m not. I was so terrified. I knew what I should have done in that situation, but I couldn’t do it. And Oikawa’s not as good as you. Magic can’t take the place of proper healing,” Kunimi said, glancing over at Han’ei. “You’re incredible. And I haven’t been giving you credit for that. I haven’t really been treating you well at all.”

“I don’t think…” 

“I know how insensitive I’ve been to you lately,” Kunimi said, squeezing Kindaichi’s hands. “About your own struggles, and—well, everything else. I don’t want you to try and deny that because you feel bad. It’s true, and I want to make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to,” Kindaichi said. “But every day’s a new day. You don’t have to wait to make a change. And not only that, but you don’t have to be perfect.” He squeezed Kunimi’s hands back. “You’re the one who told me that.”

Kunimi nodded. “Of course. If you’d thought you were perfect, you wouldn’t have learned enough to do this.” 

“I guess it’s okay to make mistakes, then,” Kindaichi said, “as long as you learn something.”

**Author's Note:**

> Han'ei - prosperity.


End file.
